


saints in paradise

by ladyrose (orphan_account)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (lmao I guess), Action/Adventure, American Civil War, Arthur is 22 but John is 17, Brotherly Bonding, But also so he can throw valid points at Arthur and actually be listened to, Drama, F/M, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mostly because I need John to know how to drive the period appropriate getaway vehicles, Union Vet!Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 20:45:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ladyrose
Summary: Former members of the O’Driscoll gang, Arthur and John escape the town that threatens to be the death of them for a new and hopeful life out west.After arriving in the mining town of Paradise, and meeting the enigmatic “peacekeeper” Dutch van der Linde, they think they’ve found it.But secrets on both sides throw them into new territory.





	saints in paradise

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly self indulgent. Cannot lie on that.
> 
> Tumblr: morgan-arthur

Sometimes he wonders and sometimes he thinks.

But mostly he thinks because wondering is what you do when you’re unsure. Light footed and liable to bolt in the wrong direction. And he’s never been able to afford that so he thinks instead.

He thinks about what Colm would say when he realizes they’re gone.

He thinks about that previous night. Leaning against the junction of his headboard and the wall with John’s jacket between his fingers, the needle darting between loose fabric and roughly eight hundred dollars in cash with a rhythm he could almost nod off to.

He had to wait until John was asleep. Because if he saw then he’d know. And if they got caught, he’d know it’d only be promises of money that would probably save the both of them and Arthur didn’t need saving and he didn’t need honest heroism. He would need for John and the money to escape with or without him.

John was painfully honest. It was why Arthur liked him. He wasn’t sure what John liked about him but it must’ve been something because the young man was adamant that when Arthur ran, he’d run too.

He woke out of a dreamless sleep to a pair of hands roughly shaking him by the shoulders, and his first thought was that he fell asleep with evidence of last nights activities still in his grip, but Johns silhouette hovering over him has an unnatural bulkiness. Jacket and hat on, his satchel already slung across his shoulder.

“It’s time,” he hisses in annoyance.

Arthur nods and is on his feet in a heartbeat.

The rest of the plan is followed in silence.

The sky is still a deep indigo when they make the march from the hunting cabin to their horses tethered just among the trees. It was harebrained. A fools errand. It was desperation manifested. Arthur swings himself upwards on his saddle, joints protesting in the cold March morning. He thinks.

He thinks this is the best decision he’s ever made.

“Lead the way,” John whispers to his right, Old Boy brushing against Arthur’s leg and bringing him out of his thoughts. He isn’t sure why he’s whispering. It’s only them in those parts of the woods. But then again, Colm was something like a wraith. Appearing and disappearing among shadows, and suddenly Arthur doesn’t blame him.

“Keep close.”

From the hunting cabin through Asper they keep a steady trot. Going around would only lead them straight into O’Driscoll hideouts and going any faster would pique interest they couldn’t risk catching. Mr. Ryder pauses from where he’s sweeping out the threshold of the general store to wave, but aside from him, he’s the only one they run into.

Arthur counts it as a blessing. 

From Asper to some unknown spot on the horizon, they ride hard. Full gallop and hearts hammering.

Countryside flies past in a blur of fog and dark shapes just out of reach. The road they follow being little more than a barely trodden wagon trail starting indistinctly hundreds of miles away somewhere back east and disappearing just around the curve and bend of each tree line they barrel towards.

This road would carry them where they needed to be. Far away in some uncharted area, some unnamed place where they could start anew away from Colm’s eyes and out from under his thumb.  _The west_. _The west_. It’s all John talked about. _What happens when we’re out west? What do we do then?_ He asks through a mouthful of soup, back against the chicken wire screen door and boot nudging Arthur’s ankle to get his attention. Fingers tapping the glass case of displays at Ryder’s and staring at him expectantly. Following Arthur around with big eyes and a million questions. The answer in every instance is always the same.

_Whatever we want, Marston._

_Whatever we want._

They stop when the sun is center in their line of vision. John comes alongside him, shrugging his shoulders and patting his chest with a frown.

 _Paddings slippin’_ , he muses.

Arthur says, _let’s eat and keep on_.

By noon, they’re Far Away. Arthur can’t tell how far, but they’ve run their horses to a limit Arthur won’t cross, and he leads them away from the road and to a creek running clear through the valley they find themselves in.

A wagon is sat there. A family. Arthur and John slip out their saddles and approach on foot. The eyes on them is more tangible than seen, but they ignore it. They allow Old Boy and Boudicca to wander the tree line and rest with two other horses while they squat at the creek and splash their faces. Arthur glances over and meets the eye of one of the men with the wagon. The man nods, smiles a slight, cautious quirk in the mouth.

Arthur returns it.

While he and John share lunch, the men come over. It’s only two of them. And four women and one baby at the wagon. They stop just a few feet away, lift a dark bottle towards them in invitation, and Arthur motions them over.

“Sorry for watching you so hard, friend,” one of the men says almost sheepishly. He runs a hand through auburn hair, graying near the edges though a smattering of freckles across his nose makes him look younger than he probably is. “Can’t be too cautious around these parts.”

“Won’t make it too far any other way. Thank you,” Arthur accepts the bottle, swatting at Johns extended hand, and winces. Fullers Bourbon. He hated that brand.

“Where are you two comin’ from, if it’s not too forward?”

“We were trackers back in Asper,” Arthur replies, frowning at the shared grimace from their company. “Something wrong?”

“We narrowly made it through Asper is all. Nasty place, that town.”

“Some...rowdy bunch tried to intimidate us,” the other one spoke up, nudging the freckled one. “But Frederick here’s handy with a rifle. They let us be once we got in town.”

 _O’Driscolls_.

Arthur’s mouth goes sour.

John turns and spits.

“Nasty is an understatement,” John grumbles and the other three hum in ageeemenr.

They pass about half an hour like that until both parties decide it time to leave. They ride together to a fork in the road, shout goodbyes and well wishes and split.

“They’re good people,” John says after awhile. Arthur glances over at him and quirks an eyebrow. “Why would Colm wanna pick with them?”

“‘Cause he’s a snake, and a no good for nothin’, and the devil incarnate. It’s why we’ve called quits, right?”

“Right.”

A few seconds of silence.

“A trapper though?” John asks, lips pursing in a grin. “You couldn’t think of anything better?”

“Shut it, Marston.”

“I mean, you can barely track let alone—“

“ _Marston!_ ”

But John is howling with laughter, nudging Old Boy ahead at a full gallop further up the road. Arthur rolls his eyes and sighs. It’s about time he’s not wearing that somber expression, glancing over his shoulder at every little noise. 

_Here’s to freedom._


End file.
